The Long Walk Home
by Ainaof
Summary: Another tag to 6x11.  Just some thoughts on what's going to happen, mainly because I think the writers plan on torturing us and the boys a lot more this season.  Sigh.


**Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, only the nugget of an idea. Also - this is meant as a tag to 6x11, so spoilers if you haven't made it that far. Reviews are always welcome if you have the time/inclination. Thanks!  
**

Death was gone.

He deposited Sam's soul in his body, gravely reissued his warning not to scratch at the wall, then vanished. Sam passed out, presumably from the pain of having Death's arm halfway up his solar plexus. At least, that's what Dean kept telling himself, because there was no way putting Sam's soul in his body again could have been the wrong choice. Right?

No way.

Dean sat on the edge of the cot by Sam's feet, trying to will him awake by sheer force of thought. He needed to know that his brother was okay, that he wasn't Robo-Sam anymore, or worse. That his soul was in his body and Sam would be normal again – well, as normal as Sam ever was, considering how messed up their lives had always been. Another part was terrified that his brother would wake up and nothing would be changed. The thousand yard stare would still be there, the Sam who could lie to him without so much as a twitch would look at him and say, "I get why you did it. But I'm still going to kill you for it."

Or the worst possibility. The wall wouldn't work and Sam would be there, but so damaged, so tortured, in so much pain... Dean viciously shut down that line of thought. Sam would be fine. He had to be, if only because the alternative created issues Dean absolutely refused to deal with at the moment. There were priorities.

Twice now, he'd lost Sam. Never again, he promised himself. Nerves had him bouncing his foot up and down, shaking the cot slightly.

Bobby glared at him from his chair by the wall. "Boy, if you don't stop twitching that leg of yours, I'm going to walk over there and smack you. You're making me itchy. Knock it off."

Dean returned Bobby's glare and opened his mouth to make a smart-ass retort, but Sam moved slightly, and Dean's attention snapped to his brother instantly. Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he moved his head to one side before becoming still. Dean waited, then heaved a sigh when nothing more happened.

He pressed his hands together, covering his nose and mouth, then leaned his elbows on his knees. After a moment, he spread his hands, covering his face and rubbing at his eyes.

"You did say he hadn't slept in a year. Maybe he needs to catch up," Bobby offered quietly.

"Yeah. Maybe," Dean answered.

"Pace around the room if it will help. Just don't bounce your leg anymore. Remember how crazy that used to make your Dad?"

"That wasn't me. That was Sam. He bounced his leg for a solid month after Dad told him the truth about how Mom really died and what he did on his trips. Dad finally duct-taped his legs to a chair in the motel where we were staying, lectured him on the dangers of twitching during a hunt for about an hour, then left him there alone for another hour. Sam never bounced his leg again. Actually, I don't think I've seen him make a nervous movement since then. He works hard at being still." Dean scoffed. "I made sure I never twitched either. Didn't want Dad taping me to a chair."

Bobby shook his head and stifled a groan. "There are times I'd like to give your daddy a swift boot in the rear. I'm glad I didn't know about that while he was still alive. He did a lot of things right by you boys, but he messed up quite a few things too."

"I know he wasn't perfect, Bobby. God knows he and Sam had their problems, mainly because they're so much alike, not that Sam ever wanted to hear it. But he was our father. He was trying to do the best he could by us. And that? That means something. Everything else feels so screwed up. I want a chance to get us out from under all this. Hell, I don't know what we're going to do. I just want my brother back." His voice had faded to a husky whisper.

"You had him back. He's right there, lying on that cot." Bobby raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at Sam.

Dean shot to his feet. "It wasn't Sam! That thing was not my brother. Before, no matter how pissed off I was at Sam, or how pissed he was at me, we were always family. Even when he chose Ruby over me, he was trying to do the right thing. He screwed it all to Hell six ways and back, but he was trying to do something good. And he wasn't actually trying to hurt me, even if he did."

The room suddenly wasn't big enough. Dean paced in the circle of the panic room, striding a few steps forward, then pivoting and stalking in the opposite direction.

"Without his soul? That -" he pointed at the cot, "couldn't have cared less if I lived or died. He would have shot me between the eyes without a second thought if I was between him and his objective. He was going to kill you, Bobby. For what?" Dean looked at the older hunter, arms out at his sides, questioning.

"To make sure you couldn't do exactly what you did, Dean. He was trying to live." Bobby shook his head slightly and shrugged.

Dean pointed a finger at Bobby. "And that right there is the final nail in the coffin. Sam, our Sam," he motioned back and forth between himself and Bobby, "would never sacrifice someone else to save himself. Damn kid was always throwing himself at danger to keep other people out of it. There is no way he would sacrifice you just to save his own skin. You're family. He wouldn't."

"You do your fair share of sacrificing yourself for other people too. Did it for Sam all his life." Bobby huffed and watched Sam on the cot for a moment before continuing. "I don't know what to tell you, son. All I know is that I never would have wanted this for the two of you. Any of it."

The pacing stopped and Dean sat heavily on the edge of the cot, watching his brother again. Without looking away he said, "I wasn't there when he needed me the most. When he opened up that hole..." Dean's voice was quiet, but the traces of pain and shame filled the room. "I should have gone with him. He died alone and went down to that cage and he was alone, Bobby. Tortured for over a year because I failed him." Eyes closed, Dean tensed on the cot, every muscle rigid.

Bobby tried frantically to think of something to say, words that would lift the burden of guilt Dean carried on his shoulders.

From the cot, Sam croaked as he tried to speak.

"Sam? Are you okay? I didn't catch that." Dean leaned over and grabbed at his brother's shoulder. Bobby poured a glass of water and came over to crouch next to them. He placed the straw in Sam's mouth.

After a few swallows, Sam cleared his throat and managed say hoarsely, "You're an idiot."

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Dean sat back and glared at him, shooting a questioning glance over at Bobby.

Hair covering his face, eyes shut, Sam spoke. "I said you're an idiot. You _were_ there when I needed you, Dean. I wasn't alone. You sacrificed yourself to make sure I beat Lucifer that day. He would have killed you, and you knew that. But you showed up anyway because you knew I needed one more chance. I wasn't alone when I went into that cage, because I knew you were there. You saved the world. Not me. I took back control to save you. To make him stop hurting you. If you hadn't shown up, I wouldn't have been able to beat him. The world only got saved because you were there. I didn't do anything that special." He released a long breath and finally opened his eyes.

Dean stared incredulously into the hazel depths for a long moment, studying them for signs of the old Sam, or the new one.

Sam said, "Uh, you're kinda creeping me out with the staring thing. How did you get me back? And hey – you broke your promise. You weren't supposed to rattle the cage."

"You don't remember?" Dean put his hand up to his mouth, then rubbed his jawline.

"Remember what?" Sam looked confused and tried to lift his arm. He looked down and asked, "Why am I in restraints? What's going on?"

"What do you remember about the last year, Sam?" Bobby asked.

"We've been trying to stop the Apocalypse. I said yes to stop Lucifer and put him back in the cage. But it meant going with him down into the cage." His eyes widened as Bobby and Dean shared a look.

"Sam, that was over a year ago. You've been back, hunting, for over a year." Dean spoke softly.

Fear spiked through him and Sam tilted his head back and forth between the two other men. A pressure was building in his head, making him wince.

"What? What are you talking..." His words were cut off as the pressure burst and a torrent of memories rushed through him. Everything in the last year resurfaced at once. He grunted in sudden pain, his eyes rolling back and showing the whites. As he bucked on the bed and tried to pull his arms from the restraints, he whimpered, "My head," then screamed in pain.

Not knowing what else to do, they grabbed his shoulders and legs, trying to hold him still. Dean shouted his name, but got no response. The scream died, and he relaxed under their hands.

Sam's breathing was harsh and ragged for a long moment as he sorted through the myriad of images and recollections flooding his mind. "I remember." His voice echoed hollow in the room. "I was hunting with Samuel, and I..." His face twisted and he squeezed his eyes shut. Sucking in a breath, he started to hyperventilate a little. Tensing his muscles, he stopped himself.

They waited in silence for him to calm and speak. Finally, he did.

"Bobby, I tried to... I'm so sorry. How could I? Please, can you ever forgive me? I can't. I can't do this. All those people." He rolled his head toward Dean. His eyes opened and pleaded with his brother. "The vampire. I watched. I let him... You should have killed me." Sam was shouting now, panic and loathing edging in.

"God, Dean, you should have killed me. You don't know some of the things I've done. What I did while I was hunting for Samuel." He starting gasping, unable to catch his breath.

"Untie me. I'm going to puke, please. Let me go!" Sam surged to the side, trying to lean over the edge of the cot. Bobby went to grab a bucket while Dean hurriedly unbuckled the restraints on Sam's wrists. He caught the bucket that Bobby tossed to him and shoved it under Sam's nose in time to catch the stream of vomit from his brother's mouth.

Once Sam had thrown up whatever he had eaten earlier, he progressed on to dry heaves. Dean winced as his brother's torso rippled and clenched, trying to expel the poisonous memories filtering their way back into Sam's mind. Bobby had released the ankle restraints, then stepped out of the room for a minute. He came back just as the dry heaves were ending, carrying a few warm, damp washcloths and a towel.

Sam stayed on his side, curling up a little and wrapping his arms around his middle. His hair and face were damp with sweat from heaving. Bobby passed Dean a washcloth, and he placed it on his brother's forehead. He took the second and gently wiped Sam's face and mouth the way he'd done when they were children and Sam was sick. Bobby brought over another cup of water and they had Sam rinse out his mouth and spit into the bucket.

Finally, Sam sat up, moving slowly as if every joint ached. When he looked over at Dean, the older brother flinched. Bobby stepped over to see why and forgot to breathe for a moment. Sam looked – older. It wasn't a physical change, Bobby thought, it was the eyes. The look in Sam's eyes had changed again. Gone was the blankness of the last year, only to be replaced by a truly haunted look. Memories and shadows played in those eyes. There was pain and wildness in Sam's gaze. His eyes said he had danced on the edge of madness, perhaps even crossing over a time or two. They said he wasn't sure if he'd come back, or lost the way.

Sam looked away from Bobby, back to Dean, and his eyes and expression shifted again. This was the pleading, kicked puppy expression they both knew well.

"You should have killed me. So do it now." He clenched at Dean's wrist. "Do it. Or I will." Sam swung his legs off the cot and steadied himself before getting up.

"Nobody is dying here today. We'll get you through this. It's going to be okay." Dean stood and roughly pulled Sam into a tight hug.

At first, Sam was stiff in his brother's embrace, then he relaxed minutely. A coiled tension seemed to drain out of him until finally he was desperately clutching the back of Dean's shirt in his fists. Dean held on just as tightly, almost too tightly for Sam to breathe comfortably. Bobby waited, uncertain if the reunion would be enough. Which Winchester would prove the most stubborn?

Sam pulled away first, drawing back enough to look sadly into his brother's eyes. He shook his head at him and said, "You should kill me. If you knew some of the things I've done, you wouldn't even hesitate. You thought I was a monster before, when I was drinking the demon blood? You don't have a clue. Do the world a favor, Dean. Kill me. Go back to Lisa and tell her I'm dead so maybe she'll give you a second chance."

"Shut up, Sam. That wasn't you. You didn't do any of the things that happened in the last year. Your soul was still in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. None of it was your fault." He cupped the back of Sam's head with his hand, shaking it a little.

The laugh was bitter and acidic as Sam backed away. "You're wrong," he said. "My soul might not have been here, but the rest of me was. I remember everything I did. It's all connected. I remember the smells and the sounds. Worse yet, I understand the logic and the reasons behind choices I made. They still make sense, even if I hate what I did."

Dean just looked at him, uncertain of how to respond.

Sam shouted, "Don't you get it? I'm still that person. Now though, I have a soul that tells me that all those choices – which part of me still thinks were perfectly reasonable – were wrong. People got hurt. People _died_. The family business is supposed to be saving people, not letting them die because saving them wasn't convenient. And there is a part of me that believes I made the right choice. I can't live like this, Dean!"

"That's too damn bad, because you have to!" Dean shouted back at him. "I can't lose you again. You're need to figure it out, because I will not lose you again. This last year... knowing you were down there, suffering? No. We are not doing this."

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and forced him to meet his eyes. He steadied himself enough not to flinch at suffering he saw.

"Listen to me, Sam. Because I'm only going to say this once. Today is your first day back. Everything starts new here. What happened before wasn't you. That wasn't you, so you just ignore it, forget it happened. Leave it alone. And whatever you do, leave the damn wall that Death put up alone, okay? Just don't mess with things."

Sam watched the stubborn expression on his brother's face and noticed, not for the first time, that the stubbornness was colored with fear. With a certainty that nestled deep in his bones, he understood Dean's feelings for just a moment. The epiphany passed, leaving behind a weariness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. But for Dean, he would try.

"I missed you too." Sam said quietly. "Can we go upstairs?"


End file.
